Sinister: seattle's Rocket reviews FYCYWLAP
Ian Connelly
ian at xxx.com
Wed May 31 01:29:01 BST 2000
oh, good! this, from the city which brought
us mudhoney and soundgarden (and has, ahem, stolen
everett true from the UK); while i love those
bands, is it any wonder that b&s aren't
rockin' enuff for mr. josephes?
still, a cursory search of his name on google.com
shows that he seems to like death cab for cutie,
has written a bunch for pitchforkmedia.com,
and he's a raving fan of innuendo, as are we all.
so hold your fire! he's just looking for attention,
the sweet young thing. as are we all.
ian
somehow wishing i could mix big black's 'the model'
together with b&s's 'the model.'
---------- Forwarded message ----------
The Band With the Mopey Crap
By Jason Josephes
Belle and Sebastian
Fold Your Hands Child,
You Walk Like a Peasant
(Matador CD)
My editor told me that I couldn't use the word "gay" to describe this
release. He didn't care whether I meant gay as in homosexual or gay as
in how things like friendship bracelets or barbecues without alcohol are,
you know, gay. That's okay, though, because a number of adjectives
come to mind, really juicy ones like "pedantic," "dim" and "achromatic."
See, Belle and Sebastian, an eight-piece group out of Scotland, have been
riding the USS Critic's Darling and landing in the hearts of those who
thought that Morrissey was a little too butch. Lead singer Stuart Murdoch
likes C.S. Lewis and Kafka, thus jettisoning the ridiculously outdated idea
of giving their audience some light-hearted escapism. The band's 1997
release, If You're Feeling Sinister, actually wasn't too bad, but then
came 1998's The Boy With the Arab Strap, a slow and sour collection of
sissy-folk. The painfully titled Fold Your Hands Child, You Walk Like a
Peasant continues to remove anything vaguely resembling a spinal cord
from the proceedings. The songs just seem to sit in the corner and mope,
hoping that somebody, ANYBODY will give them a hug when, in reality,
nobody likes a crybaby.
But hey, maybe you like lite-lite-FM music. Maybe you want a band
whose idea of stepping out on a limb is to add a trumpet to the
proceedings. Maybe you, too, enjoy a pity party and wouldn't mind
inviting songs with titles like "Nice Day for a Sulk." Maybe you eat paste.
Whatever your hang-up, don't let me deny you or the rest of the critics
who are rushing to proclaim Sebastian as the Belle of the ball. (Get it?) I
know I'm outnumbered. I also know that it's easy to lockstep with
everybody else on a critically acclaimed release. (Shit, I even once gave
a good review to the Murder City Devils. The Murder City Devils,
people!) I gave this album a fair chance, but every time I listened to Fold
Your Hands, I pictured an overweight 15-year-old girl writing in her
diary and wondering why nobody loves her.
As for the actual music, let's just say that this band has discovered its
formula. When the accompaniment isn't imitating the plastic bag from
American Beauty, the band will decide to pick up the pace. The same
pace, as in this one particular rhythm. It's steady -- but not too fast, now!
-- and it's sprightly and occasionally it's got handclaps or an electric piano
or something else that's completely inoffensive. But in the end, it always
sounds stuffy and incomplete. I doubt any of these guys are raging tigers
(although a few of them might dig bears) which makes any visions of
restraint on the band's part a little tough to...um, you know.
So, in conclusion, while Fold Your Hands isn't gay, it's definitely greased
up and bent over.
No. 326, May 24 - June 7, ? Rocket Magazine, 2000.
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